I don’t know who you are.
Or whether you’re a man or a woman.
I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you.
But I love you.
I hope that you escape this place.
I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again...
"Our lives our not our own"

Sep 1, 2012

On the oneness of the mind and the whole

There are as many stories as there are people. Everyone
experiences an event, a story in their own way. Nothing is shared. We walk in
parallel ways, and our perspectives are never meant to cross. Every being is
imprisoned in their own minds. We try with books of fiction to escape from this
one-person reality. In books, in films, in fiction, we most often see the
perspectives, the thoughts, the worries, the stories of each of the characters.
In reading or watching a work of fiction, we become Gods, who oversee the
whole, and we are liberated by the cages of reality, where we can only know,
narrate the linear story of our own selves.

We are entrapped by the self. That is why we are born alone
from nothingness of thought, we mirror other beings from what we perceive, and
we develop our own selves from genetic memory, and social mimicry. We forget
that what we create, our own personalities are even though so universal, so
unique, and most important so alone. We find the need to share our thoughts,
our art, our work with others, so as to combat this bleak loneliness of
thought. But no matter how we find in conversation how much we are alike, we
still are trapped in the cage of the self, in the cage of the mind, in the cage
of the oneness. We can never know what the other thinks, feels, how they see
the world. We can compare and agree that we see the same world, but we cannot
really share entirely those perspectives. We see things from our own eyes. There
is no other point of reference.

When we dream we may see the self, or what we appoint to be
the self as from above, rather than from within. Only when we dream we are the
Gods of the universe, the universe of the dream land. We are not trapped by one
perspective, we see the world as in fiction, as in books, as in films, free to
see ourselves and others, and free to appoint thoughts and agendas to them. I
am not talking about a lucid dream, but any dream at all. When we dream, the
way we see the self, is the same way we see the other. Unbound by the reality
of the one, we can see the whole.

We do not have one shared consciousness. Empathy is merely
fiction. Two twin siblings, or siblings of any kind are thought to have
sometimes some kind of telepathy, but that is mere familiarity of paths
crossed. The paths are the same, but the perspectives, even though so near to each
other, are still alien to one another. Every human being is a new world.

What about multiple personalities? I wonder how that might
be. Does one invent friends to share the head, to fight the loneliness? I feel
that still there is loneliness in that world, for the world is shared in turns,
no two personalities appear at once, at the very same exact moment. They might
remember the other, but they share one body, one brain, but not one mind.

The mind is meant to be alone. It is loneliness, its
inherent quality. The universe can’t start from another point, but from our
mind. There are as many starting points in the universe, as there are intelligent
lives. Each mind is a shining star that makes the whole, the vision of the
whole. But this vision, transcendent, is never seen. If there was a point that
saw the whole, that other point might be alone, and another point is seeing it,
and many points again make a whole, but they can never see that whole, of which
they’re part of. The whole is existent, but never perceived by any point of
light in this existence.

A mind is thus alone, always alone. And that is what makes
the world a common playground. We crave to share what we see, and find what the
other sees. We try to piece the pieces of the puzzles together by sharing the
self with the other. The whole is something we can’t see, but we know it’s
there. The whole wouldn’t be if our minds were not alone. The whole is pieced
together by the desire of each piece to know about the other. We fall into the
gravity of the need to know what we don’t know, what we will never know, and
even though lonely forever; unknowingly, we create the union that keeps us
orbiting around the existence. It is the oneness of the self, which makes the
whole.